Plethora of Freedom
by HeavenforaMinute
Summary: JackOC. Read and Reviews. kthx.
1. One True Love

He had had many women. Short ones, tall ones, ones with legs forever, ones with tiny waists, thin ones, robust ones, ones with curves, blondes, brunettes, redheads, one with tiny hands that clung to his matted hair, and ones with long fingers to graze over his smooth tanned skin. He had had screamers, moaners, groaners, hair-pullers, back-scratchers, bed-breakers, cooers, whiners, meowers and even women whose pleasure only needed to be written across their contorted faces.  
  
None, however, compared to her.  
  
She was not at all like the others. It always seemed to him that she was with him for her own pleasure, not the few gold coins he left on her bedside table. She sat astraddle his hips, her long dark brown hair spilling down her arched back, riding the waves of ecstasy that racked her body. The last wave broke and she was drowning in a delicious pleasure that soaked every inch of her skin. And then he was there with her, bathing in those same beautiful waves, his lips parted, a low guttural groan escaping from his lips. She collapsed against his chest, panting, their chests rising and falling in unison.  
  
A few moments later, she rolled off of him to lay on her side with her back to him. They laid there in silence for what seemed like a comfortable forever.  
  
"You can show yourself out, Jack," she said, her voice thick with sleep. "You should know the way by now."  
  
Her words, which from any other mouth would seem venomous, stung at him more than he knew he should allow. She was right. He had dragged himself down those rickety stairs more times than he could possibly ascertain.  
  
He didn't leave, though. He laid there beside her, a sheet covering only what was necessary for propriety's sake. He studied her, the line of her back, the sinuosity of her breast, the curves of her hips, her soft pale skin, creamy and unblemished, which was remarkable for someone of her profession. Nothing about her was hard or rigid. Everything was smooth, flowing. She slept silently, her lips moistly parted, oblivious to the odious pirate who studied her like he studied anything: intensely, noting every detail, drawing any conclusion that could be used to his advantage.  
  
'It's not right,' the raspy voice in his head said. 'Nothing good will come from a woman.' Jack nodded in agreement. 'Women were bad luck. They were the bane of all man's existence. They latched on and sucked all of the life out of them.'  
  
'Tormenters,' he grumbled back. 'Existing only to make our lives more difficult and produce more of them. Nagging. Ye gods, the nagging. Insatiable. Quenchless. Bitching. Complaining. Dissatisfaction makes their collective world go 'round.'  
  
'The sea is your only love, Jack, and even she's always got a hankerin' to be beggin' off you.' He smiled as he thought of his true love: the wide open plethora of aqua-marine freedom that never stopped calling to him. She was as acquisitive as any woman could be, yet her nagging didn't scratch at his ears. Her nagging pulled at his chest until he couldn't possibly sit still any longer, and he was sashaying through the streets to the port, across the dock and into the Pearl, the source of all his liberty. His kohl-rimmed eyes would focus on the horizon, and often without words he would demand to have it brought to him.  
  
And without another thought about it, he got up from the bed, slipped into his worn clothes, and gathered his effects and walked to the door. He stopped, however, and turned to look back at her lithe sleeping form. He stood there staring for a few moments, bouncing his leg anxiously, wanting nothing more than to run back to the warm bed and warm woman who slept in it. However, he heard his name being called in the wind and with one last longing glance, he plopped his hat on his head and slipped down those rickety steps and out into the cool Caribbean night. 


	2. Impossibly Smooth

Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run? –John Donne  
  
The sun shone in through the small window, dancing over Jack's bronzed skin. Even though he was half-dressed and covered only by a flimsy sheet, a sheen of perspiration covered him from head to toe, evidence of the steamy dreams that kept him tossing and turning during the night.  
It had been weeks since he had seen her last. The sea had claimed him again, owning him, controlling him. Although he'd like to call himself an independent man, he was a slave to her whims.  
And now, of course, there was another woman claiming, owning and controlling him, if only his dreams. He had had these dreams before. This was not the first woman to stay stuck on his mind after he had shut his eyes and slipped into the oblivion of the dream world. But none had felt so real. He felt as if he was really slipping his rough hands over her impossibly smooth skin, kissing the column of her neck, his coarse beard burning her pale skin. He knew had to have actually been grasping her hips, trying to match the pace that she was constantly setting for him. He could feel himself pushing deeper inside of her, getting lost in her warmth, her scent filling his head. He could hear her soft delicate moans urging him, almost egging him on to get rougher, to get harder, to get faster...  
And of course, he'd be so close, so unbearably close, and he'd awaken. Absolutely no release, figuratively or literally. This had to stop. All this distraction was wearing him thin. Why, just yesterday, he had been sitting with Anamaria, drinking some rum, yet completely silent. Yes, silent. He wasn't flirting with her, he wasn't ragging on her. They just sat. After a few minutes of this uncomfortable stillness, she spoke up.  
"Are ye alright, cap'n?"  
"Hmm?" He was staring at his boots; however his mind was elsewhere, obviously. At that moment, he was thinking of pinning the woman from his dreams to the wall and having his dirty way with her.  
"You haven't touched yer rum at all, Sparrow. Are ye feelin' okay?"  
"O' course I'm fine, lass," he spat, his irritation and exhaustion evident in his tone. "Can't a man sit in silence without sufferin' from the constant naggin' of a woman?" He stood abruptly, dropping his mug on the floor with a huff. "And it's Captain Sparrow, thank ye kindly, lass." And he stormed out and off to his cabin where he felt back to sleep to have more dreams about being betwixt the legs of that pretty lady.  
"Enough is enough," he mumbled, throwing the sheet from his body and rising from his bed hastily. He grabbed his shirt from the chair and threw it on over his head with a few grumbles of irritation. He continued to dress himself, the mumbling growing in volume until he was shouting at the top of his lungs. He walked to the door in his long angry strides and through open the door.  
"GIBBS!"  
"Yes, Cap'n?" the corpulent man called from across the deck.  
"Return to Tortuga immediately."  
"But Cap'n, we just left a mere fortnight or so ago." Jack fixed him with an unsettling glare.  
"I do believe that I am the captain of this wonderful ship we called the Black Pearl, thus I will be making the decision of which port we will be dockin' in next. Now alert the crew." 


	3. Drunken Lethargy

Hey! Thanks to Sereture and Wicklowe for reviewing. I wasn't going to continue it, but because I thought it was so awful. But thanks to you two, I've continued it. I hope you like what I've got here. More constructive criticism will be greatly appreciated.  
  
There she was. She sat in a man's lap, her arm draped loosely around his shoulders, a mug of ale raised in the air as she threw her head back in laughter. Really, she was too beautiful to be in this place. Jack tensed as the man smothered in his face in her bosom, sloppily kissing the delicate skin he found there. He thought he saw a flash of annoyance cross her features, but it was quickly replaced with a mask of exaggerated pleasure. Alright, now it really was getting to be too much. He stalked over to the couple and stood before them, boring holes into the back of the man's head.  
  
"Viola," he said, his voice as deep and raspy as ever. They pair looked up him with equal exasperation.  
  
"Captain Sparrow," she greeted him amiably. "I hadn't expected to see you so soon."  
  
"I know," he stated. 'That's all you've got, ol' Jack? Ye gods, what's the matter wif ye?'  
  
"I'd love to chat, Sparrow, but as you can see, I'm in a bit of a delicate position." She nodded to the man on whom she was sitting. "Perhaps I'll see you later," she added with a wink.  
  
"Come with me." He grabbed her arm abruptly, pulling her off of the man and to her feet.  
  
"'Ey!" the man yelled, standing indignantly. "What d'ye think yer doin'? She's wif me!" He grabbed Viola's free arm and pulled her back to him.  
  
"Ye really don't want to be doin' that, m'boy," Jack slurred.  
  
"C'mon, ye whore. 'urry up and finish what ye started." Viola looked up at the man who was practically drooling with drunkenness. Without even putting any serious thought into the repercussions of what she was about to do, she pulled her hand back and slapped him straight across the cheek. His face immediately turned scarlet with anger at being accosted by a mere prostitute. His raised his fist, ready to connect it with her face. But in his drunken lethargy, he was a bit too slow for her and her fist got to his nose first. The next thing Jack heard was the thump of a heavy body hitting the floor.  
  
"Oh lovely," he mumbled. "'f course." He looked at her and heaved a sigh. "I was hopin' t'would be a bit more difficult than this." He grabbed her, threw her over his shoulder and walked out of the bar into the warm Tortuga streets. He walked into her flat, up those rickety steps, threw open the bedroom door and tossed her on her bed.  
  
"What on earth do you think you're doing?!"  
  
"Yer the one who knocked that man out cold!" He observed her warily. "Where did you learn to punch like that anyway?"  
  
"The edificial streets of Tortuga," she sighed, and with an annoyed tone to her voice continued, "What do you want, Jack?"  
  
"I, eh.." he mumbled. "You?"  
  
"You pulled me out of that bar and made me lose more customers than just that slimy man, just so you could sleep with me?"  
  
"Yes?" She glared up at him. He knew better than this. With a sigh, he pulled out a small bag that jingled with gold. Her eyes lit up and her scowl softened into a smile. "Welcome back, Captain."  
  
------  
  
He wasn't going to lie. That romp between the sheets was as amazing as ever. But it wasn't enough. He wanted to have her, to claim her, to own her, to control her as she had been doing to him for so long. He wanted to wake up every morning with her in his arms instead of losing his ephemeral fantasy woman every time the sun's rays shone down on his eyelids. It was his right to have her, was it not? She had been stealing him every time he closed his eyes, in every daytime fantasy, and in every dream at night.  
  
"Viola!" yelled an inebriated voice from outside the window.  
  
"Shit," Jack mumbled, rising from the bed while trying not to disturb her. He looked down at the man who stumbled around outside her door, yelling her name. Wonderful. It was the drunkard from before. This was getting ridiculous. He had better things to do than fight with more drunks here on land when he could be out pillagin' and plunderin' and fightin' with drunks on the sea, and makin' passionate love to beautiful brunettes in his cabin. He looked back at Viola, and a sinister smile spread across his face.  
  
"You're coming wif me." 


	4. Little Room For Error

Wicklowe – I hope you'll like Viola. I know this looks like it's going to go into one of those lovely one-dimensional romances (that I adore, mind you).. but I think this is going to go someplace different. Just gotta have some fun before we get there. Sereture – You're right about the 'wif' thing. I type the dialogue as I say it aloud and it doesn't sound as ridiculous when you're trying to do that cockney accent aloud as when you're reading it in a silly little fic. Hope you like this chap too. Ashley—Jack's a perv? I believe that's what I was going for. Anelen—I agree with you about it being out of Jack's character. Like I said to Wicklowe, it looks like it's going towards fluffy romance, but I assure you, it's not.  
  
Hope everyone enjoys this one! (AN: Thanks in advance to FireValkyrie—I affectionately borrowed 'starkies.' To anyone that hasn't read her fic 'A Pirate's Life Indeed'.. DO IT! It's wonderful!)  
  
Chapter Four – Little Room For Error  
  
The sun trickled in through the small window, the few rays that managed to break their way through the cloudy window finding a direct path to Viola's eyes. This was the first thing that wasn't right. The sun had never awoken her in her own bed for her bedroom had no windows. The next thing that wasn't right was the cool sheet that enveloped her body that smelled so strongly of male. That overpowering scent of sweat from a long hard day that filled your lungs with a warm fulfilling feeling. No, her own bed had no scent of its own. Something was definitely awry here.  
  
She forced herself to open her eyes. It certainly felt too early for her to be awakening. Her body was still weak and heavy with sleep and as she silently chastised herself for that last drink of rum the night before, she noticed that the bed she lay in did not belong to her, the room around her certainly did not belong to her, and the arm wrapped firmly around her waist most definitely did not belong to her.  
  
Alright, what the hell was going on here?  
  
She didn't have to look twice to figure out whose arm was draped so possessively around her waist. The pirate's branding and sparrow tattoo left her with little room for error. Captain Jack Sparrow. Honestly, what on earth did this man think he was doing? She was fed up with this man. He treated her alright considering their separate professions, she being the lowest of lows and him being the feared and abhorrent. But the look in his eyes as he stared intensely up at her, asking her questions she didn't want to answer... This was all just too much for her.  
  
Using her many years of experience in escaping inebriated men, she slipped out from under him. She picked up her dress from the floor, and suddenly, the room moved around her and she fell face forward onto the floor. Something else was amiss here. 'Lord, tell me I'm not...'  
  
She scrambled from the hard floor to the small window above the bed and her breath caught in her throat. Sparkling aquamarine velvet as far as the eye could see. The sun shone off the water like the diamonds she had seen on the queen when she lived in London as a child. It stretched out until it met the sky, equally blue and equally expansive. 'No..'  
  
She scampered off the bed, consequently awakening the captain, and flew out of the room in just her starkies (AN: Thanks FireValkyrie) and out onto the deck. 'Oh, God, a deck..' She ran over the ship's edge searching the horizon for any strip of land. Nothing. She turned about and looked at the other side. Nothing. North, South, East, and West—nothing. 'Bloody wonderful.'  
  
And now all the pirates on the ship were staring at her, too surprised to see a half naked woman come barging out of the captain's cabin to even begin leering at her. She was too angry to bother with propriety even though this was a band of filthy pirates. She scowled unapologetically and stormed back into the cabin. 'Or rather, stormed back into the captain,' she bitterly thought as she looked up at his amused smirk.  
  
"I'll not allow you to charge me men for a free show you're only supposed t'give me, luv." She stared incredulously up at her, her jaw slightly dropped, her eyes flashing. As the reality sunk into her, she narrowed her eyes, her eyebrows knitting together in anger, and placing her two hands on his bare chest, shoved him with all of the strength her years as a bed companion had given her.  
  
He had not expected to fly backwards as he did. He considered himself a strong man, for he beat most men in any battle, from the meaningless scuffles in the seedy pubs to the colossal brawls with those men in red coats. Certainly a woman could not defeat him. But defeat him she did, he realized, as he saw the ceiling loom above him and felt the hard floor smack his back and knock the wind out of him. This was not how he had hoped this conversation would go. He sat up abruptly and scowled up at her.  
  
"What the bloody 'ell was that for?" She was standing at his feet, her fists balled at her hips, her elbows jutting out. She looked more like a child pretending to be a pirate than a woman trying to establish some authority.  
  
"What do mean 'what the bloody 'ell was that for?" she slurred, ostensibly mocking him. "I should be asking you that, ye godforsaken cur."  
  
"What did I do?" His eyes were wide, incredulous, truly shocked at her reaction. She didn't see his signature feigned innocence across his features. He really didn't know. He honestly didn't understand.  
  
"Why am I here, Sparrow?" she asked slowly, wanting to hold on to every last bit of patience she could.  
  
"Because I wanted ye here," he stated, as if it were the most obvious explanation.  
  
"You took me from me home in the middle of the night...because ye wanted me?"  
  
"Yeah," he said, his voice dripping with non-chalance, as he rose from his rather uncomfortable position on the floor. He walked about the room, gathering his shirt and effects, putting them on as he went about, as if this were truly the most normal thing for him. As if it were perfectly acceptable for him to pilfer a prostitute he frequented, make off with her in the night and sail off towards the horizon without even pretending to ask for her consent. Bloody pirates.  
  
"Are ye tryin' to ruin me life, Captain Sparrow?" 


End file.
